Don’t flay the sheep.

A little help here?

All right, it’s time to fess up…a year and some change into this call, I’m really having a tough time making friends. I have got to start working on this. Soon. I can blame it on all sorts of things: busy, baby, family nearby makes it easy not to do it, busy, baby, I have some friends in Chicago (but really, they’re a little far for me to get to), bad habits around forming and maintaining friendships because I’ve been moved to frequently in my life, can’t participate in anything too expensive, too many evening meetings, busy, baby, etc. etc.

But I need some ideas, folks. How does a 20s/30s married pastor woman (who is very busy, works full time and has a baby…)  find new friends (and, especially here, we’re looking for friends not from my church—I like my church folks, but I need to see other people, too) in a new town?

Help me brainstorm!

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God in the magazine

Two very unlikely media bedfellows have done me some good this week: The Christian Century and Parade Magazine.

Yes, you read that right: Parade, the thing that comes with the ads in the Sunday paper. Probably not one of those periodicals I should even admit to glancing at.

But, this Sunday’s edition featured an interview with Stephen Colbert. I like him. And, in defense of actually reading the article, I thought it might be a bit professionally edifying because Colbert is known to be a devout Catholic who actually teaches Sunday School. But, based on the journalistic non-depth of Parade, I didn’t expect to get much out of it. It was just a convenient thing to read while I stuffed food into my mouth during my quick afternoon break from a string of Sunday events at church.

Now I’ve been thinking about the article all week. Here are the two paragraphs that stuck with me:

…one icy winter day, as Colbert walked down a street in Chicago, a Gideon handed him a Bible. “It was so cold, I had to crack the pages,” he recalls. “I flipped it open, and it had a list of things to read about if you were feeling different ways. Under ‘Anxiety,’ it said ‘Matthew V,’ the Sermon on the Mount.” He paraphrases: “‘Who among you by worrying can change a hair on his head?’ It spoke to me.”…

…Colbert remembers the lesson of the Sermon on the Mount: “That’s being fearless,” he says. “Not living in fear is a great gift, because certainly these days we do it so much. And do you know what I like about comedy? You can’t laugh and be afraid at the same time—of anything. If you’re laughing, I defy you to be afraid.”

If you watch Colbert for awhile, it becomes clear that one of the things that bothers him about the state of our country right now is that way fear is used to manipulate people. Personally, I’m not particularly afraid of some of things our current leaders want us to be afraid of. But there are many other things that I’m afraid of, and many things that make me feel like we’re headed to you-know-where in a hand basket. I’m a very anxiety prone person. I love that Colbert had an Emmaus, come-to-Jesus moment over that particular verse.

When I read those two paragraphs, I put this together (maybe it’s a little speculative, but I think it’s a much healthier way to speculate about celebrities than “Will Brittny lose custody of her kids?”): I think Colbert sees it as his calling (in the fully Christian sense of the word), to make people laugh at the things that they are afraid of. This is his way of preaching the good news of the Sermon on the Mount…”Do not worry.”

With that percolating in my head, last night I heard Peter Gomes speak at the Christian Century lecture. (Gomes, by the way, is hysterically funny. And, for more conservative nay-sayers, at least from what I heard, he’s unapoligeticaly Christian. I think one of the things I’m looking forward to in heaven is a to sit on a good rap session between Gomes and Colbert.) One of the things that absolutely thrilled me about his talk was that he brought up eschatology (the study of “the end” in other words, what’s going to happen at the end of history), and he talked about is as his great hope: he has hope in the future because God is still doing things and the best is yet to come.

And then, he gently chastised this roomful of mainline pastor-folks and their friends to preach on Revelation. I was ready to jump up on the table and start dancing. In my seminary training, eschatology was a big deal. When I was ordained in the CRCNA, I had to be prepared to talk about eschatology. When I shifted over the PC(USA), suddenly no one was talking about it, it wasn’t a big deal, and I miss it. Because for me, when I get anxious about tomorrow, about what the future holds, I really need to return to that idea that Jesus IS coming back, and a new creation IS on its way.

I don’t like the destructive version of eschatology–that God is coming to knock heads together, wipe everything out and start from scratch. But I am a classic pessimistic Calvinist. I’m really not convinced that humans are capable on their own of cleaning up the big mess we’ve made. We need God to enter in and give us some help. In the meantime, I we need to laugh. Not just as a way to ward off fear, but because laughter is a sign of hope.

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Random Updates

Just a few things:

1. We just returned from a wonderful week with Erik’s family (hi, in-laws!) in Oregon.
2. This trip included Zora’s (and my) introduction to NCAA Div I football. It was like a trip to a foreign country for me, but interesting, kind of fun, and the food was great.
3. The trip also included a hike up a big mountain. As usual, I wondered if I would make it. Erik’s aunt, possibly the most hiker-encouraging woman alive, I think tried to subtly remind me that I could probably pull it off since I have given birth and that was likely harder. But then, I started thinking about and realized that birth may have been easier since I couldn’t feel anything from the waist down most of the time. However, I will say the recovery from a hike is easier than C-section recovery.
4. Zora is a walker. And how. It’s about all she wants to do.
5. If your baby like books and has become mobile, an outing to Borders is not the best idea.
6. Before I left on vacation, the other associate pastor and I had this good, but short conversation about how he’s trying to be intentional about not telling people he’s busy. I think he’s right–it’s whine-y and it tells people you don’t have time for them. But, I’ve been looking at my schedule for the next two months, and it is busy. Just today, I noticed that December actually looks like it’ll bring some relief. This is a very bad sign if you’re a pastor.
7. I’m not calculating mileage anymore–maybe I’ll catch up later–but I’m doing really well with the anti-spread campaign–lots of running. However, I’m not sure things have stopped spreading.
8. I finally saw a dentist a month ago. His name is Boris Becker. He’s not the Boris Becker.
9. Stacey has a great post about pastors making friends. Obviously, this is something I need to do. I promised myself I would make an effort this fall, but (see # 6) things are a little nuts, and I’m still at a loss about what groups I could join. Things seem to happen in the evenings. In the evenings, I’m either at church or on Zora duty while Erik studies.

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Things that are making me happy

In the spirit of not whining too much, I thought I’d share a few things that are making me happy on this perfect, bright, sunny late-summer afternoon.

1. Pluots. They’re half plum, half apricot. How cool is it that you can cross-breed fruit like that?
2. Monochromatic patterned tights and my favorite boots.
3. The flouncy red-skirt that I’m wearing, which I bought cheap for a halloween costume a few years ago, but now I just wear it for fun, even though I look a little like I’m some sort of weird urban cowgirl when I wear it with the aforementioned boots.
4. I get to go hiking in a few days. In Oregon.
5. This picture of Zora. It is so typical of her right now–she loves her little mohawk, and she’s always grabbing  at it.

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Packing

We’re off for our first airplane trip with Zora in a few days. In preparation, we’re sitting here reading the FAA website to find out which of Zora’s necessities we can carry-on with us.

As always, government bureaucracies prove to be a source of laughs. Here are a few gems:

If your child becomes uncomfortable or upset, security officers will consult you about the best way to relieve your child’s concern.

Excuse me, sir, but my child is uncomfortable with body-cavity searches.

NEVER leave babies in an infant carrier while it goes through the X-ray machine.

Seems obvious…

But what does this mean:

You may want to consider asking for a private screening if you are traveling with more than one child.

If you’re traveling with more than one child you can REQUEST to be taken off to a little room as a family and be strip-searched together?

All items including formula, breast milk, and juice will be inspected, however, you or your baby or toddler will not be asked to test or taste breast milk, formula, or juice. Our Security Officers may test liquid exemptions (exempt items more than 3 ounces) for explosives.

OK, so they won’t make you taste breast milk, but they might let the bomb-sniffing dogs taste it?

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Maybe I should move into my tent

In the middle of a busy weekend, I had the privilege of spending the night in a tent. (And, in the middle of a busy weekend, a good reminder that I have a very cool job which involves things like spending the night in the tent.)

I love my tent. I love being outside. Maybe even more than being in my house.

So, despite the:

• biblical hordes of mosquitoes (neccessitating 100% DEET which melted the plastic on my sunglasses)
• lack an air mattress and subsequent crappy night of sleep
• dulcet tones of a certain youth group member who usually has an incredible sense of humor, but not so much at 1 in the morning
• wild turkeys

Despite all those things, I enjoyed being in the tent and outside so much that I was trying to figure out when I can find the time to spend another night in a tent this fall.

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I go running and my iPod starts preaching at me again

Once again, my iPod seems to be preaching to me.

Artist Beki Hemingway has a song called “Mary’s Song”  (which she sings with Erik’s friend from Marquette, Jonathan Rundman. It’s Mary’s perspective on what it means to be Jesus’ mother–and not the normal aw-isn’t-baby-Jesus-sweet-it’s-such-an-honor-to-be-his-Mom kind of stuff:

Joseph had a dream
I guess we’re on the move again
Strange as it may seem
I do believe you speak to him
And so…here we go

Lord, I am your servant
If you lead, I will go
Where you are, wherever you take me
Is where I’ll be ’cause that’s my home

It’s more about what this means in her life–that she now has to follow Jesus and it’s not always easy.

Since I first heard this song, it’s made me think of ministry—that God often asks us to go to places we hadn’t thought of going, and that as long as we go where God calls, we’ll be home.

It sounds nice and religious on paper, but it can be hard. If you are a frequently moved person, you know that it can make you feel rootless. I’ve been thinking about this a little bit lately: a few kids from my youth group have moved; one of my sisters has relocated to Europe; my brother is moving back to Chicago (yay!); and now my parents are moving to a different condo. Someone asked me how I felt about my parents moving and I had to explain to them that it wasn’t the same as for many people my age when their parents move out of the house where thew grew up because I didn’t grow up there, and there’s no one house that is that growing-up place for me. I’ve realized that I tend to think of home as the place were my family is. It’s more about them than it is about location. (OK, plus my parents are moving to a really fabulous location. I’m perfectly willing to adopt their new spot as home, since it comes with A BEACH!!)

But, there’s still that rootless thing. So, yesterday morning, I’m running, and the iPod hits me with “Mary’s Song”, and I’m thinking, “Yep, how true, I hear you Mary…”

And then this song by Mindy Smith shuffles up, “Tennessee”. (And, I cannot find lyrics…so bear with me, OR, better yet, go listen to the song…same thing goes for the previously mentioned one.) It’s a song about finding home in the place where you wind up being planted. (And, I wonder, is it any coincidence that Mindy Smith is a pastor’s daughter?) “It’s been ten long years and I’m rooted in your soul.”

And as I’m listening to this, I’m wondering if I’m becoming rooted in this place where I am now. And getting a little teary.

When I was in college, I remember my choir director working with us on an arrangement of “O God, Our Help in Ages Past.” We kept returning to one word toward the end—home. Over and over and over again, which seemed pretty foolish since it was a technically difficult piece to sing and by the time we got to that last phrase all of the really terrible technical parts were through. But we kept going over that last phrase, again and again and again:

Our shelter from the stormy blast, and our eternal home.

He told us that we had to love that word, to sing it with every bit of tenderness and longing that we could muster up, because it was the most important word in the phrase, and because “home” holds such meaning.

Anti-Spread Campaign Update: several walks to the pool, a short bike ride, and a few runs later, we’re down to 4783.4 left before I get to Rome.

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RevGalBlogPals Friday Five: Seasons Change…

1. Share a highlight from this summer.

My sandy-butted baby enjoying the beach.

2. Are you glad to see this summer end? Why or why not?

No. It’s been a good summer and I could use a few more months of it.

3. Name one or two things you’re looking forward to this fall.

Watching the leaves change. Cooler weather for running. Hoping junior high ministries take off.

4. Do you have any special preparations or activities to mark the transition from one season to another? (Cleaning of house, putting away summer clothes, one last trip to the beach)

I put away my summer clothes in late November or December. And I try to go to the beach even if it’s kind of too cold to be there.

5. I’ll know that fall is really here when __________________________________.

…when I haven’t worn sandals for a good week.

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Belated Birthday

A year ago today we brought Zora home from the hospital. This year, today being a Tuesday,  she and I are doing our own things for 24 hours—it’s her day with grandma.

We didn’t do much for her birthday. Our basement flooded (150 gallons!) the day before. While we were pretty much done dealing with the water the next day (not much you can do in an unfinished basement with floors that are gross to begin with other than suck up the water…), we had the rest of the house to clean. Our gift to Zora was floors that she could crawl on without getting covered with cat hair.

We took a walk. At one point, I thought the Fed Ex man was delivering two huge boxes for Zora, but it turns out they were for Erik (my first clue: the labels that said, “Do not deliver to persons under 21. Do not deliver to someone who is intoxicated.”), 30 beers for his 30th birthday (which was in June, but we don’t scorn deliveries of beer). Zora thought this was a pretty interesting gift, though.

My parents came, and we had burgers and cake and Zora “opened” presents.

But here’s my favorite birthday memory. Last night, Zora and I had a lovely dinner together. We were eating at grandma’s, no one else was there, and we had chicken and green beans and carrots and some creamy rice stuff. I think it might be the  first time when the two of us ate entirely the same meal. No high chair, so she sat on my lap, I put her frog bowl in front of us, and my plate and cup out of her reach. We were not particularly good at following the rules of etiquette. There was some food throwing and dropping, and I was putting forkfuls of food in my mouth directly above the head of my dinner companion. Also, one of us was dressed only in a diaper—that would be the one of us more prone to spilling, and YES, that one is Zora. It sort of felt like our first mother-daughter dinner date. It was nice.  I hope we’ll have dinner together more often.

Anti-Spread Campaign Update: Not much biking going on here, since the Fox River is HIGH and the bike paths are out.  But, some progress: 4807.4 mile to Rome.

I hear the Vatican in now sponsoring charter flights to pilgrimage sites. Good idea, but I think I’ll loose more weight this way.

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If you don’t get it, it’s time to read some theology

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